


cut me with your knife (and save me)

by dustofwarfare



Series: come aboard (let's go dreaming) [2]
Category: Final Fantasy VIII
Genre: M/M, Multi, Poly fic, but mostly just these two
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-24
Updated: 2018-02-24
Packaged: 2019-03-23 06:42:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,335
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13781925
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dustofwarfare/pseuds/dustofwarfare
Summary: It becomes apparent to him that he has a type, and that is an unstoppable force of nature. If Rinoa is Holy then is Seifer is Meteor, and that makes Squall basically Doomed.--Or: What happens after Rinoa tells these two in no uncertain terms that they need to stop denying what they want, and Squall and Seifer are left with nothing but each other and an attraction that can no longer be denied.(Part II -- this is all Squall/Seifer, from Squall's POV. This is a four part fic; part III will be from Seifer's POV, and part IV is alternating between all three. This is a Seifer/Squall focused fic, but is a poly V between Seifer, Squall and Rinoa where everyone talks and communicates because that is literally my favorite.)





	cut me with your knife (and save me)

Squall is barely aware of Rinoa leaving the apartment, all his attention focused Seifer; Seifer, who is giving him that smirk and that cocky two-fingered _come on_ gesture.

Squall does not rush Seifer like he did during their sparring match the day they gave each other matching scars, and he doesn’t rush at him like he did in battle, either.

Instead, he crosses his arms over his chest and says, “Stop goading me into doing things.”

“But it’s so easy,” Seifer says, stalking toward him. “Let’s cut the bullshit. You want this?”

“What’s _this_?” Fine, maybe Squall’s being a prick on purpose but it’s not like Seifer doesn’t deserve a taste of his own medicine on occasion.

“Me,” Seifer says, chin tilting. “Don’t fuck around. If she’s wrong, tell me and I’m out.”

 _And if she’s not_?

He can’t say it, but he nods.

Seifer cocks his head. “Wait. Is that, yes, you want me or yes, she’s wrong?” At Squall’s dead-eyed stare, Seifer growls and says, “You’re so fucking annoying,” and then – he’s just there, up in Squall’s space, and he’s only ever been this close before when he’s trying to kill Squall or at the very least fight him.

“I’ve had _dreams_ about taking you apart, Squall,” Seifer says, smiling, and like every smile he’s ever directed at Squall, this one is just as pointed, just as mean, but maybe…maybe there’s something else there, some kind of rough affection, Squall’s not sure.

Squall’s not the brightest bulb in the interpersonal relationship chandelier, but even he can tell that Seifer’s voice is husky with arousal. Squall’s chin goes up, meeting the challenge head-on like always. “She’s not wrong.”

Seifer’s eyes are blazing-green, his pupils dilated so that his eyes look like distant stars. Squall shakes himself then steps forward so they’re so close they’re breathing in the same air, the same charged electricity.

Squall might have still fought giving in, because that’s all Squall has ever known how to do. But Rinoa’s blessing seemed more like a demand, and Squall knows that no matter how far from the Garden he and Seifer go to spar, everyone else is getting caught in their crossfire.

It’s really not as hard as Squall thought it would be, once he makes up his mind. He simply grabs Seifer by his shirt and hauls him in, presses his mouth to Seifer’s cruel smile, and kisses him. He doesn’t kiss him like he does, say, Rinoa – Squall kisses Seifer like he thought of doing in the shower when he was a cadet, or fuck, a few days ago after one of their many verbal altercations in the hallway that nearly led to blows.

Seifer kisses back like a counterstrike, his hands tight on Squall’s shoulders and it’s – there are no words for it, but everything inside of Squall seems to light up at once like a fire spell. They’re kissing with so much heat he’s surprised there aren’t sparks.

Squall is hard in seconds, and the aggressive push of Seifer’s hips against his own tells him in no uncertain terms that Seifer’s just as into this as he is.

Squall first kissed Rinoa out on the balcony under the stars, and he was so nervous about it, having never kissed anyone in his life. But she melted against him and Squall hadn’t wanted to stop kissing her ever since.

Kissing Seifer is both just like that and _nothing_ like it; their kisses are as sharp-edged as their blades, wielded without mercy. Squall pulls his mouth away to breathe before he passes out. He’s not surprised when Seifer takes the opportunity to grandstand.

“You’re better at that than you are at sparring, Commander.”

“Shut _up_ ,” Squall hisses and kisses him again, angrily as before. “I win every time it matters.” He would also have won that afternoon, if Rinoa hadn’t shown up and overheard their – admittedly tacky – argument.

Seifer’s hands go to his hips and he yanks Squall against him, turning and walking him backward. Squall, for some reason he’s not sure about, lets Seifer do it and trusts he’s not going to throw him out a window. He ends up with his back to the wall and Seifer kissing him senseless.

Seifer is clearly trying to get the upper hand, here, and Squall doesn’t like it so he pushes his hands under Seifer’s shirt. Seifer’s skin is warm to the touch and he’s muscular in a way Squall’s frame is too lean to ever allow. His fingers trace the sharp cut of abdominal muscles and he wonders how much time Seifer is spending in the gym.

There’s something wrong with the skin in a few places; it’s thick and ropey, like scar tissue.

Seifer responds by dropping a hand from Squall’s hip and rubbing Squall’s erection through his pants. The touch is rough, the pressure on the right side of too much, and Squall’s head goes back and hits against the wall as he catches a moan behind his teeth. He bites his own lip, forcing himself not to buck forward and press his erection against Seifer’s hand.  

“Oh, no,” Seifer says, dropping his head to suck and bite at Squall’s neck, which makes him squirm in delicious torment. “You want to fuck me, Leonhart? Then I better hear how much you like it or fuck you, no.”

Squall wasn’t thinking through the dynamics of this or how it would work – he and Rinoa switch things up because there’s a lot of fun to be had and many ways to have it, but other than her introducing him to the existence of his prostate with her clever, slim fingers, she’s never fucked _him._ He isn’t sure how this is going to play out; his fantasies about Seifer always were putting him on his back and fucking him, but he suddenly wonders if those were Seifer’s same fantasies, too.  

Squall’s never had a problem being sexually attracted to men, and he’d happily let Rinoa have a go with that strap-on she’s always eying on the Internet, but there’s something about the idea of Seifer inside of him he doesn’t like. It makes him feel vulnerable in a way he doesn’t want to share with Seifer Almasy.

“Hey,” Seifer says, sounding annoyed. “Are you brooding while we’re making out? Hyne, why do I even want to do this with you in the first place?” He pulls back and scowls at Squall, the annoyed look so familiar that now it’s _Squall_ feeling a vague sense of affection.

“Give me something interesting to think about, then,” Squall says, which is kind of lame, maybe, but it’s a challenge and he knows Seifer will respond to that.

 _Just do this like you’re sparring_ , he thinks, and for a moment he wonders if that’s Rinoa giving him advice from the sidelines…but no, the bond is muted, closed-off, she’s letting him sink or swim on his own. Fuck or be fucked. He tries not to laugh. _Hyne, what am I doing?_

Right now he’s watching Seifer contend with his belts, all impatient, pulling at the straps. “Why the fuck do you wear so many of these? We used to joke back when we were cadets that it was a chastity belt.”

“Apparently they are, since you can’t seem to get them off.” Squall leans back against the wall, amused at Seifer’s uncommon lack of grace. Squall’s also so hard it hurts, but it’s nice to have a breather for a second.

Seifer glares at him, which is, by this point, his normal expression when they’re around each other. Squall reaches out, almost hesitantly, and draws his fingers over the scar on Seifer’s forehead.

Seifer goes still and glances up from where he’s dealing with the last of Squall’s belt. For the first time, his eyes look wary. “What?”

“I’m not allowed to touch you?” Squall huffs. “You’re taking my pants off.”

“That’s not where I want you to touch me, do you need a diagram?”

Mouth set, Squall tangles his fingers in Seifer’s hair and pulls, hard. He doesn’t miss the flash of pleasure that flitters across Seifer’s expression and lights up his eyes. Squall doesn’t do it again but he keeps the information for future reference, then drops his hand to pull Seifer’s shirt off, because he’s not going to be the only one undressed here, no way.

He stops when he gets a look at Seifer’s bare chest.

He and Seifer have been sparring for months, and while Seifer sometimes wears an undershirt tank top that bares his arms and shoulders, they don’t exactly shower together so Squall hasn’t seen him shirtless since they were forced to shower together as cadets.  

Seifer has scars on his chest running from just below his collar bones all the way down; three of them, neat identical slices that disappear beneath the waistband of his combat pants. Frowning, Squall reaches out and traces them; they start out light and get thicker as they go down, as if whatever made them was applying more pressure the closer it got to the vulnerable area of Seifer’s stomach.

“You get in a fight with a monster and run out of cure magic or something?” he asks, because the scars look like talons and he can’t imagine why Seifer wouldn’t have healed himself. “Looks like you went a few rounds with a zemzelett.”

“Oh, it was a monster,” Seifer says, and there’s something in his voice – a coldness at odds with his usual fiery demeanor – that makes Squall glance up at him. Seifer’s expression is one Squall recognizes, not because of their long familiarity but because Squall’s seen it enough times on his own; shuttered, closed, remote. “She wouldn’t let me heal them, no matter how much I screamed. So if you ever call me _gutless_ I can tell you from firsthand experience I’m not. I had to hold them in. When she’d determined I’d suffered enough to learn my lesson, then she let Rai stitch them up and give me a potion. Too late to stop the scarring, though.”

Squall knows that Seifer’s time as Ultimecia’s knight wasn’t the romantic dream he’d so wanted it to be, but he hadn’t spent much time thinking about what Seifer’s day-to-day life was like while bonded to the mad witch that tried to end the world. “What’d you do?”

“Let you escape from prison,” Seifer says.

Squall isn’t sure how to feel about this. One the one hand, he doesn’t want to think about how awful that must have been, writhing around in torment and screaming, blocked from the magic that would make the pain stop and heal the wounds. Or seeing your own intestines, which, ew. And the stitches had to have hurt, they were clearly done in a hurry and without the potion Seifer probably would have ended up with an infection.

It happens all the time to people without access to stronger magics. Potions can only do so much.

On the other hand, he remembers wanting to die on that wall every time the pain lanced through him, remembers Seifer’s _enjoyment_ and the way he’d watched with so much glee as Squall’s body jerked from the current forced through him. Part of him wants to take some sick, selfish pleasure in knowing Seifer was punished for their escape, but Squall isn’t that kind of person and immediately feels bad for thinking that.

“Don’t you fucking dare feel sorry for me,” Seifer snarls at him, grabbing at Squall’s hair and pulling. He’s not sure he likes it quite like Seifer does, but the sharp tug does manage to pull him out of his head for the moment, enough to focus on what Seifer’s saying to him. “It was my choice to become her Knight and that was the cost of failure.”

Squall nods, dropping his hand and going instead to the button and zip of Seifer’s pants. There’s really nothing to say about any of it – it’s over and done with, and they can get caught up in old madness or go forward into a new, different kind.

Squall barely gets Seifer’s pants undone before Seifer drops to his knees.

Squall stares down at him, eyes wide, because…this is not how he thought this would go. It seems almost too easy, and if Seifer Almasy is anything, it’s definitely not easy.

“Pull my hair again,” Seifer instructs him bossily, and Squall grabs his hair and decides to just go with it. It’s not surprising that Seifer is taking the lead even though Squall has no idea if he’s ever done this before, with a man.

He wants to ask, but he also sort of doesn’t.

Then he forgets about it entirely, because Seifer yanks his pants down, smirks at him like he just won an award and takes Squall’s cock in his mouth. It’s so sudden and _fast,_ he goes deep immediately and Squall is so taken by surprise that he moans.

Seifer’s always been an offensive fighter, so maybe it should make sense that he’s doing this. Whatever, Squall doesn’t fucking care, it feel _amazing_ , and he pulls on Seifer’s hair mostly so he doesn’t fall over and also because Seifer smacks him, hard, on his thigh and glares up at him.

“Fuck my throat,” he says, like Squall’s missing the point of everything. “Come on, fucking do it already.”

Squall pulls Seifer’s head back and stares down at him, and says, “I’ve had this fucking fantasy for years, Almasy. Let me enjoy it.”

That shuts him up, and Squall smiles a little, then thrusts his hips forward and drives his cock hard into Seifer’s throat.

It’s the messiest, roughest blowjob he’s ever had – Seifer is making a lot of choking sounds because Squall is definitely choking him, his eyes are watering and it’s messy, there’s spit _everywhere_ including Seifer’s chin and all over Squall’s dick, and it’s so hot Squall’s knees are trembling.

Seifer is communicating by slapping and pinching him on the thighs, and when he needs Squall to back off he simply pins Squall’s hips with his hands and takes a few ragged breaths before diving in. At one point his hand drops and Squall can tell by the familiar motion of his elbow what he’s doing; just the thought that Seifer is jerking off while blowing him is enough to push Squall so close to the edge he nearly comes right then and there.

Which Seifer must notice, because he stops entirely and rocks back on his heels. “Gonna fuck me, now, Leonhart? Hmm? Can you figure it out, or do you need to find some training manual and take an exam on proper procedure first?”

It’s not Seifer’s stupid commentary that makes Squall shiver, it’s the way his voice sounds; rough like he’s been giving Squall head for hours instead of however long it’s actually been. The sound is so hot that Squall has to grab the base of his dick so he doesn’t come, like it’s the first time he’s ever done this and, okay, fine, it is.

“Shut up,” Squall mutters, and then sort of gracelessly pounces on Seifer, knocking him back so they’re on the floor.

They kiss some more, and Seifer manages to pull Squall’s shirt off while Squall kicks at his pants, not able to take them off all the way because of his boots but getting them down enough that they don’t restrict his movements. At some point Seifer has toed off _his_ boots and when Squall tugs his pants and underwear down he pulls them all the way off, liking having Seifer completely naked beneath him.

Squall pulls back and looks, taking his time. Seifer might not be conventionally attractive – his scar and his eyebrows give him a permanently mean sort of expression even on the rare occurrences he’s not being an asshole – but his body is incredible, toned and tan from his time in the sun, since he isn’t as fair as Squall and doesn’t burn quite as easy.

His cock is lying flush on his stomach, red and wet with precome. Squall has never touched a dick that isn’t his own so the first time he tries, it’s a little awkward because it’s sort of…backwards, in a way, but he’s clearly doing something right because Seifer’s back arches and he gives a little hiss of pleasure, eyes slitted and his face flushed as he watches Squall handle him.

“Sometime today, Leonhart,” Seifer bites out, and obviously Squall isn’t the only one who’s close to the edge and impatient for more.

Squall might nod need instructions or a manual, but he _does_ need something. He stands up and manages to get out of his boots and his pants so that he’s naked, then points at Seifer and says, “Don’t move.”

Then he walks into the bedroom and yanks the bedside table drawer open. The lube is there next to Rinoa’s bright pink vibrator (“This shade was twenty gil cheaper for some reason!”), and it’s the nice stuff, way better than the serviceable kind he’d been using on his own.

Squall walks back into the living room to see Seifer still on the floor, which is kind of a surprise given Seifer’s inability to follow orders and usual disdain of Squall giving them. He’s got one arm behind his head and he’s stroking his hard cock with his hand, eyes locked on Squall.

“What is that?” Seifer asks, then snorts when he sees the bottle. “I admit, I expected you to just go for it, Leonhart. I gave you that nice sloppy blowjob for a reason.”

Squall frowns at him as he climbs back on top of Seifer, thrilling at the feeling of Seifer’s hot skin beneath his own. “Don’t be stupid. I want to fuck you, not hurt you.”

Something flashes over Seifer’s face at that, but it’s gone too quickly for Squall to figure out what it is. “Well?”

Squall runs his hands up and down Seifer’s muscular thighs and he notices there are scars, there, too – not as deep as the ones on his abdomen, but clearly made by the same thing. Squall glances at him and Seifer shrugs.

“Everything she did hurt. Even when I did what she wanted.”

Squall doesn’t want to think about what Ultimecia considered a _reward_ , and Seifer clearly doesn’t want to talk about it, so he grabs up the lube and squeezes a generous amount into his palm. He rubs it over his cock, hissing a little at the feel of his own touch and the slickness of the lube.

“Fancy brand,” Seifer says, watching Squall stroke himself with heated eyes.

“Rin got it.” He waits for Seifer’s inevitable commentary, feeling a little weird talking about his girlfriend while pushing Seifer’s legs apart. “You want me to use my fingers?”

Seifer looks like he wants to ask something, and Squall answers even technically he doesn’t need to because it’s really none of Seifer’s business. “I’ve done this before with –with her. Rinoa.”

Seifer’s eyes widen. Then he smirks, of course, but some tension bleeds out of him, or morphs back into the kind they both want. “Kinky. And no, Squall, you don’t need to use fingers this time, for Hyne’s sake just _fuck me_ already.”

So he does.

Squall did this with Rinoa but it took a long time, and that’s what was hot about it; Squall likes to take his time, likes doing things right, likes how it felt when her body gradually opened up for his fingers, his cock. They didn’t do it often, she’s usually too impatient and he isn’t always in the mood to go so slow himself.

But this isn’t anything like that slow seduction, this is – Squall is breathing hard, trying to find the right angle to press in, his cock is so hard and he can’t stop staring at Seifer’s face.

Seifer’s eyes are narrowed, his expression challenging and Squall leans in to kiss him as he pushes inside. Seifer’s body is hot and so tight, and he worries he might be hurting him but Seifer doesn’t seem to be in pain as much as impatient.

“Squall,” he hisses, head falling back and his hips lifting. “Did you fantasize about fucking me?”

“Yeah,” Squall pants, finally buried to the hilt, staring down at Seifer’s flushed face. “You – like hearing that, I can tell.”

“I’d like it better if—you – _actually fucked me_ ,” Seifer growls, and kicks him in the back with his heel. Hard. “Your fantasy might have been just staring at me with your cock in my ass, but in mine, you moved a lot more and made me fucking _feel it_.”

That’s the end of Squall’s hesitating. He fucks Seifer like he always did in those feverish imaginings, both back when he was sixteen and more recently, when his experience with sex allowed his fantasies to be even more detailed.

He probably could do this better, but it’s so overwhelming – Seifer’s hard body under his, Seifer jerking his own cock in time with Squall’s frantic thrusts, the way it feels to pull almost out of Seifer and slam back in, harder and harder, and he’s going to come first and doesn’t care, he’s too on edge and he’s wanted this for too long.

“Let me fucking hear you,” Seifer growls at him, jerking himself faster and using his free hand for leverage to help push himself up and meet Squall’s thrusts. “Damn it, Squall –”

Squall stops trying to hold back the sounds he’s making and then it doesn’t matter, he couldn’t if he wanted to. He can hear Seifer’s voice but he’s paying less attention to the actual words and more to the pleased and breathless tone, and he chokes out, “I’m – gonna come,” which is mostly because he thinks Seifer will like hearing it.

He does – the second Squall gives himself over to orgasm he can feel Seifer come, feels the way his body goes tense around him and beneath him and it makes it feel even better even though he’s not sure how that’s possible at this point.

Squall falls on top of Seifer when the orgasm runs its course, and they’re both sweaty and sticky and for a brief second Squall thinks he feels Seifer’s hand glide over his back, but maybe he’s imagining it.

***

It’s awkward afterward, but mostly because there’s a stunning lack of their usual antagonism.

Squall puts on a pair of pajama pants and Seifer his combat pants, but they don’t bother with underwear or shirts. It’s an unspoken decision that they’re going to do that again – it turns out years of foreplay really does make for some damn good sex, and they have all night.

They talk about gunblades for a bit, because that’s safe. Seifer tells him about a few of his students, and Squall can tell that he even likes some of them despite acting like they’re all a pain in the ass. He makes Squall laugh when he says how told them all he doesn’t have any patience for troublemakers, because he was one himself and knows all their tricks.

He gets good evaluations, despite having exacting standards.

They don’t talk about Ultimecia, or the war, or the parts of the war where they were enemies out to kill instead of rivals out to best each other. They do talk about the orphanage, some, but Squall’s memories are still a little vague and Seifer’s own are complicated with Ultimecia’s influence and the fact he’s now junctioning Ifrit as part of his instructor duties.

Squall does tell him about Laguna being his father, though.

“Oh, man,” Seifer says, as relaxed as Squall has ever seen him. “I used to watch that movie of his over and over again, remember? He was Sir Zefer! It’s why I wanted to be a sorcerer’s knight, and that’s your _father_?”

Squall blinks; the memory was one he’d lost but now that Seifer reminds him, he _does_ remember; Seifer sitting in front of the one television at Matron’s, always late at night when the other kids were asleep, staring enraptured as Sir Zefer defended his sorceress.

“You knew all his lines,” Squall says, slowly, as the memory crystalizes, reforming out of the void left by his GFs. “One time I walked in and you were acting out all his parts, standing on a chair with your arm up like you were holding a gunblade. You were pretending a cushion was a dragon.”

“Yes, well, so glad you remembered that,” Seifer mutters, but as usual, he seems incapable of being embarrassed. He just grins. “Man. I had a crush on him, too. Laguna. And it’s your dad. Of _course_ it fucking is. Get me an autographed copy of that movie and I will blow your _mind_ , Squally.”

It’s an old nickname, and maybe hearing it is why Squall says, “You already did that,” but Seifer just tackles him and promises he’ll do it again.

***

It’s a little slower the second time but not by much, though they at least make it to the bed.

Squall likes watching the way Seifer’s head tosses on the bed, the way he greedily pulls Squall closer while they fuck, his fingers leaving bruises on Squall’s hips.

The third time is when they fuck the bed up, because they get in stupid fight about Triple Triad of all things – they’re not even _playing_  -- and Squall thinks maybe it’s the best because it’s rough and urgent and he knows what he’s doing this time, there’s no hesitation when he pushes inside and fucks Seifer into the mattress.

They doze after that, and when Squall shuffles into the shower the dawn has barely broken and he has that gritty feeling of having stayed up too late, his eyes heavy but his body satisfied and loose-limbed. He doesn’t even blink when Seifer follows him into the shower, pushing him up against the wall and biting at his mouth.

He talks, telling Squall about fantasies where he’d find Squall in the shower when they were cadets, how he’d shove him around a little, make Squall hard and desperate, get Squall begging for Seifer to get on his knees and suck him off. Squall is hard as a rock by the time Seifer’s done recounting his fantasy, even though Seifer hasn’t touched his cock at all, just kept him pinned to the shower with one hand on his chest and his mouth on Squall’s neck.

When he’s finished talking, Squall grabs him by the hair and kisses him with all the pent-up lust he’s still not able to put into words. Seifer moves like he’s going to get on his knees but Squall does it first, sliding to his on the hard tile, smoothing hands up and down Seifer’s water-slick skin.

He wants to kiss the scars on Seifer’s chest and thighs, but he doesn’t. He mouths over Seifer’s cock and this is definitely new territory, wasn’t even a fantasy until the second Seifer put his mouth on Squall’s cock and now Squall wants nothing more than to return the favor. And he wants to make it just as good for Seifer as Seifer did for him; the sex equivalent of returning that scar, maybe.

Seifer likes this because he can be bossy; he gives Squall all kinds of instructions; _I like some teeth, suck it harder, use your tongue_ , it’s annoying but Squall listens to some suggestions and blatantly ignores others, doing a mix of what he likes, what Seifer is trying in his bossy way to ask for, and then just trying things until he can read the positive response in Seifer’s body.

He’s not quite as adept as taking Seifer’s cock as deep as Seifer took his, but, well, Squall does like to have goals and now he has one.

Besides, it doesn’t seem to matter; at one point Seifer shuts up and goes still and just says, “Look at me,” in a voice Squall’s never heard come out of his mouth before.

So Squall looks up at him, water running over his face and into his eyes, blinking against the spray but refusing to look away. Seifer reaches down but he doesn’t grab Squall’s hair or try and fuck his throat, there’s nothing rough at all in the way he runs his thumb over Squall’s bottom lip, where it’s stretched around Seifer’s cock. Like he wants to feel it as well as see it.

Seifer puts his head back against the tiles and does it again, and again, until Squall feels Seifer’s thighs tremble and his cock pulse, and then he comes in Squall’s mouth with a shudder. Squall rubs his hands up and down, gentling Seifer through the orgasm and watching him the whole time until it’s over.

He presses his forehead against the scars on Seifer’s stomach, the worst ones, and feels Seifer’s fingers slide once, twice, through his hair.

How strange that what strips them down to the bone isn’t pain, but pleasure.

***

They get dressed after that, and Squall doesn’t know if Seifer’s going to leave, if they’re ever going to do this again or what. He’s too tired and well-fucked to care, really.

But Seifer goes to his kitchen and starts talking about how the food here isn’t any better than when they were cadets, pulling out eggs and spinach and banging around looking for pots and pans. He’s lining everything up on the counter, and Squall finds both his actions and his sly cheerfulness mystifying.

“What are you doing?” Squall asks, finally. He rubs his eyes and tries not to yawn; after that shower he wants nothing more than to fall into bed and sleep for a few hours.

The living room is a mess, though, and the bed will need to be straightened, the sheets washed, before he can do that. And he _is_ hungry, they skipped at least two meals and certainly worked up an appetite.

“Making omelets,” Seifer says, as if it’s obvious. He holds up a package. “And some bacon. That okay with you, Commander, or would you rather go eat hot dogs with the students?”

“Omelet’s good,” Squall says, and picks up the Weapons Monthly magazine.

It becomes apparent to him that he has a type, and that is _an unstoppable force of nature._ If Rinoa is Holy then is Seifer is Meteor, and that makes Squall basically Doomed.

***

The whole date-night thing is all Rinoa’s fault.

She breezes into his office, kisses him on the cheek and says brightly, “Hey, so, Selphie and Quisty and I are going to have a girls’ night on Wednesday, okay?”

Squall’s brain parses the words down to the smallest possible bits of information like a computer. _Rinoa will be busy on Wednesday._ “Okay.”

“So you should probably go to Seifer’s, because the girls are gonna stay over.”

Wait. What? He blinks at her. “I – you’re kicking me out of our apartment?”

“No, silly! I just want to host a girls’ night, that’s all.” She perches on the edge of his desk, swinging her feet. “And we always have a sleepover, ‘cause Quisty doesn’t want the students to see her stumbling around drunk from too much wine.”

Squall knows nothing about the myriad rules of girls’ night, only that they are sacred and important to Rinoa. And that Quisty should know full well that Esuna cures a hangover. “I can sleep in my office, it’s fine.”

“Why would you sleep in your office?” She cocks her head. “Are you and Seifer fighting?”

“Are we ever not fighting?” Has she met them?

“Look, we’ve been over this a _thousand_ times, honey. You and Seifer have your thing and I respect that! I want you guys to have time together.”

“For what?” Squall closes his eyes when she leers at him. “Rin, we don’t need time together. We, uh.” His face is on fire and he really would like them to talk about anything but his – thing – with his rival. Former rival? Are they even rivals anymore? The world has gone mad. “We’re fine.”

“Uh-huh.” She hops off his desk and kisses him. “Oh, I made a shared calendar for the three of us, so you know, if there are scheduling conflicts we can make sure we know about them ahead of time!”

“Scheduling…?” What is she talking about? He and Seifer don’t schedule anything. They spar, then they fuck, and that’s what they do. There’s no reason to put it on a calendar – you don’t put _breathing_ on there, either.

Rinoa claps her hands. “I’m really good at this! I think people should hire me as a consultant. I should offer Irvine and Selphie my services! I’ll give them a discount.” At his expression, she bursts out laughing. “You’re so serious, I’m kidding, obviously. Well. I _am_ good at this, but everyone knows Irvine and Selphie are hopeless.”

“But what,” he says, struggling to keep up with her, “do you mean about scheduling?”

“Look at the link I sent you!” she trills, and waves. “Bye! Love you!”

Squall watches her go, as always unsure how to comprehend the intensity of how much he loves her, how easily she manages to twist him up like a tornado spell and how half the time he has no idea what she’s talking about.

Squall opens his email and clicks on the one from Rinoa.

_____

_From:[heartillyr@balambgarden.org](mailto:heartillyr@balambgarden.org)_

_To:[leonharts@balambgarden.org](mailto:leonharts@balambgarden.org), [almasys@balambgarden.org](mailto:almasys@balambgarden.org)_

_Subject:  Shared Calendar!_

_< link>_

_Hey boys!_

_Here’s our shared calendar, mainly because Squall forgets his appointments all the time haha!_

_Anyway, I went ahead and marked out Wednesday and it turns out that’s always a good night for the girls sooooo I just left yours as a repeating event, because even Q and S are on a mission or something, honestly, a girl can use a little quality alone time. And you two have lots to catch up on!!! Wink wink!!_

_< 3! R_

_\------_

Squall clicks the link.

There are too many things on the calendar that make him groan; a formal meeting with other SeeD divisions, Quistis’ quarterly budgetary meeting which is so boring he almost fell asleep in one, dinner with his father which is awkward because Squall still can’t believe they’re related, and there, on a Wednesday, it says, _Girls Night: Rinoa, Quistis and Selphie (R’s place)!_

And then: _Seifer and Squall Date Night! (SA’s place)_

Squall leans back in his chair and stares up at the ceiling. Some part of him wonders if he would have done a single thing differently if he’d known, back when he’d first met her, how she would so completely upend his life and throw it into chaos.

Probably not.

____

Squall doesn’t respond to the email, but Seifer does.

_To:[heartillyr@balambgarden.org](mailto:heartillyr@balambgarden.org), [leonharts@balambgarden.org](mailto:leonharts@balambgarden.org)_

_From:[almasys@balambgarden.org](mailto:almasys@balambgarden.org) _

_Subject: Re: Shared Calendar!_

_What the fuck_

_____

Seifer barges into Squall’s office ten minutes later. Squall groans, because he’d been _this close_ to escaping, he hates being in his office. The only reason he’s here is because Quistis has threatened to make him do presentations for groups of school children if he doesn’t finish up the outstanding paperwork he owes her.

“What the _fuck_ , Leonhart,” Seifer snarls, stomping in and glaring at him. “We are _not_ going on a date.”

There are probably people out there that can hear him. Seifer is not being quiet, and Squall…doesn’t know if he should point that out or not. He’s never asked Seifer if he cares if anyone knows that they’re sleeping together, and Seifer hasn’t brought it up, either, which is probably significant and therefore Squall’s not in the mood to think about it.

Seifer, displeased because he’s yet to get a reaction of any kind, which he hates, leans forward and smacks his hands hard on Squall’s desk. He smells so good, like gunblade oil and whatever the cologne he wears is, or aftershave, Squall’s not sure. The scent goes right to his cock and he has a visceral reminder of biting that place between Seifer’s neck and shoulder while driving his cock hard into Seifer’s body.

“Your girlfriend sent me an email link to a _shared calendar_ ,” Seifer hisses at him.

“Then you should go yell at her,” Squall says.

“Should you be saying that?”

He shrugs. “She can stand up to you.” He’ll never forget the glorious sight of Rinoa Heartilly in a temper, threatening to burn Seifer’s balls off with a fireball.

“What does she think is going on, here?” Seifer demands.

“That we’re sleeping together?” Squall asks, staring at his mouth.

“So that means I gotta schedule an appointment? Where’s the fucking fun in that?” Seifer leans in even more, which should be so he could lower his voice, but it’s Seifer so of course he only talks _louder_ the closer he gets. “Either you two don’t schedule fucking or you’re abstaining this month, which I know how you can go three times a night, so something tells me it isn’t that.”

Squall stares up the ceiling and thinks about his life choices, all of them, and how’s he’s still not sure if he’s done everything wrong or everything right. “I think she’s trying to help.”

“I don’t need her help,” Seifer hisses. “Am I not fucking you enough? Is that it?”

Squall fixes him with a look that says _you’re being very stupid._

Seifer fixes him with one that says _tell me that to my face, asshole._

“You’re overreacting,” says Squall, and huh, that goes over about as well with Seifer as it does with Rinoa. Seifer takes a swing at him and Squall manages to get to his feet in time, ducking under and ending up on the other side of his desk, facing his very angry – Seifer.

Seifer’s glaring at him and he refuses to wear any kind of uniform so he’s in black combat pants and a short-sleeved gray t-shirt that pulls over his muscles. The only annoying thing about admitting that he’s insanely attracted to Seifer is that now Squall can’t forget about it anymore.

“She thinks she’s helping us spend time together. Look, it’s fine. If you don’t want to see me, I’ll do some work and sleep in my office. All right?”

“Don’t _placate_ me, Leonhart,” Seifer snaps, but he must have noticed that Squall is staring at him like he wants to fuck him over the desk, and…well, if being ignored riles Seifer’s up, knowing Squall wants him is the easiest way to get him to stop sulking.

Except then Squall says, “It’s not like Wednesday was my idea.” And that’s not what he means, what he means is _I’d never force my presence on you without making sure that you wanted me there first, I don’t do that because I’d hate it if someone did that to me._

Seifer doesn’t share a bond with him, though, and all he hears is – well, exactly what Squall said, so he snarls something unintelligible and probably mean and stalks over to the door to leave. He doesn’t wear that long white coat of his anymore, but it’s almost like Squall can see it flaring out behind him like an extension of his bad mood.

Squall figures he’s probably hurt Seifer’s feelings. He has so many of them. Like Rinoa. Unlike Rinoa, he tends to communicate them in violence.

“Seifer. I just meant that it wasn’t my idea to block out time for you without asking you first. Do you, or do you not, want me there on Wednesday?”

“Because your girlfriend is kicking you out and my place is better than your shit office? No, Leonhart, I don’t.”

Squall studies him, thinking. Seifer is mad, obviously, his shoulders are tense – but he hasn’t left, so Squall goes over and reaches around him to close the door, then presses closer so that Seifer is pushed up against the wall and Squall is plastered against his back. He gives in to the urge and rubs his nose against the back of Seifer’s neck.

“…what the fuck are you doing?” Seifer’s growl is low, but Squall knows from experience it’s more turned on than angry.

“This. Is there a problem?” Squall bites gently and licks at the skin of his neck.

“Yeah. You’re an asshole.” He tilts his head, giving Squall more room. He likes having the back of his neck kissed almost more than anywhere else save his dick. “This is cheating.” He doesn’t sound annoyed as much as he does approving, though.

“You did tell me one day I’d learn to appreciate you teaching me to fight dirty.” Squall noses at his neck and then says, “You want me to come over Wednesday, or not?”

“No, I hate you, I’d rather do literally anything else. Gnats in the training room. Hot dogs with Zell.”

“Girls’ night with Rin, Quisty and Selphie?” Squall smiles and bites his neck. “Yes or no, Seifer.”

Seifer growls. _“Yes_ , you annoying motherfucker. But bring something to eat because I’m not cooking you dinner.”

 _Just breakfast._  

“Get some better beer that has some flavor,” Squall murmurs, and presses the slightest of kisses on the bite he’s left. “See you Wednesday.”

***

Squall shows up at Seifer’s with a pizza and his toothbrush (the latter because Rinoa shoved it in his hand on the way out of the door), and the second the door closes and the pizza is safe, they are all over each other.

Seifer throws him on the sofa, and Squall has his hands in Seifer’s short hair while Seifer sucks him. It’s so much like fighting it isn’t even funny – Seifer gives him the _well, what’s stopping you_? look, and Squall thrusts his hips up and fucks Seifer’s throat, as rough and brutal as he’s ever done in any fantasy.

Seifer looks so goddamn pleased with himself, too. It’s different than with Rinoa, though he tries not to do that, compare them, because they are really nothing alike. And he loves being with Rinoa, loves the way she teases and she can deep-throat him like a champ, but there’s an inherent competitiveness in sex with Seifer that is just so familiar to Squall, like a _kata_ he could do in his sleep.

He tugs hard on Seifer’s hair and twists his hips, less fucking Seifer’s throat and more _I’m going to come, if you want me to fuck you then you should stop that now._ But Seifer must not be in a hurry for it quite yet because he doesn’t stop, just shoves Squall’s legs almost obscenely apart and swallows him, rubs his balls with one hand and the other, he uses to tease at Squall’s hole.

It takes about five seconds for Squall to come so hard he sees stars behind his eyes, and when it’s over he lays there panting and catching his breath, watching Seifer wipe the back of his mouth and stretch his tall, muscular body like a sated cat.

 “Hey,” Squall says, eyeing the bulge in Seifer’s pants. “C’mere.”

“Save it. I want some pizza.” With one last lingering look, Seifer turns and moves over to the counter, where Squall hastily deposited the pizza box. He opens it, grabs a couple of paper towels and passes one over to Squall.

Seifer has a better beer this time, some Trabian lager that at least doesn’t just taste like water. They eat their pizza standing up over the counter, snarking a bit but mostly silent. There are a thousand things Squall wants to ask but he doesn’t know the words to use, either the right ones or the wrong ones, so he just throws his beer bottle and paper towel away and goes to wash his hands.

He sees something on the kitchen table and goes over, his eyes widening and he sees it’s Seifer’s Hyperion. Squall’s been on the business end of that weapon plenty of times, but he’s never once had the opportunity to examine it when he wasn’t trying to counter its strikes with his own.

Seifer comes up behind him, hands on Squall’s waist and pulling him flush against his body. Seifer starts playing with the buckles of one of Squall’s belts, lazily, like it’s a tease. “I see you making eyes at my gunblade, Leonhart. You wanna touch it, huh?”

Squall’s head goes back to rest against Seifer’s shoulder. He grins up at him and nods. “Yeah. You mind?”

“Nope. I don’t mind.” Seifer nuzzles at his neck. “Touch it all you want.”

Squall really wants to see the gunblade. He also wants Seifer’s hands on him. His life is full of very difficult choices, but Seifer makes it easier by stepping away and going to sit on the chair on the other side of the table.

Squall takes a few seconds to calm down, then focuses on the blade. It looks like Seifer, sharp and cold and a little sinister, and Squall runs his fingers over the edge and down the barrel of the pistol. Compared to Squall’s own weapon, which has been upgraded and refined to make it as personal as it could possibly be, Seifer’s is almost utilitarian.

“You never upgraded it,” he says, rubbing a thumb over the three holes in the curved edge of the blade. “Doesn’t seem like you.”

“We weren’t allowed upgrades as cadets, remember? Then I didn’t pass the exam, and…” Seifer snorts. “I suppose I should have given it back. Now I’m just used to it, I guess. I can’t think of anything I’d want to change. Not a lot of people do upgrades on that model, anyway, and I don’t trust someone not to fuck it up.”

It’s true that Hyperion’s style isn’t as popular as others – because gunblades weren’t really that popular at all until recently, and though he finds it more cringeworthy than flattering, Squall knows it’s because of him and his is a revolver-style.

Squall smiles a bit, hefting the blade. It’s heavier than his own, and Seifer has always fought one-handed – everyone assumed it was some kind of cocky stylistic choice, but Squall knows the real reason is so that he doesn’t have to put his blade down to cast magic. No wonder he has such a strong grip with his gunblade hand. “It does sort of suit you like this.”

“Unlike your flashy gunblade with a _charm_ on it?”

“Hey.” Squall gives the blade a few swings, trying to mimic Seifer’s one-handed strike and switching to his own two-handed style. It’s so strange to wield a different weapon. Especially this one. Even though he knows it’s impossible, Squall would swear he could feel the scar tingle on his forehead.

“Of all the shit you do that shouldn’t turn me on,” Seifer says softly, and his voice is just as heavy, just as weighted, as the feeling kicking around Squall’s chest that he doesn’t want to think too much about.  

Squall finds himself going through an old kata from their days in school, making a few adjustments for the ceiling height and the limited space. He breathes with the strikes and falls into the grace of the movements; it’s remarkable that even with his spotty memory he hasn’t forgotten this one.

Muscle memory is apparently harder to forget.

Squall finds it easier to talk when he’s still concentrating on the weapon and not Seifer – though really, they’re probably one and the same at this point. “How come you never said anything?”

Amazingly, Seifer doesn’t even pretend to not know what he’s asking; maybe he’s just surprised Squall asked in the first place. “I thought admitting it to you, it’d be like you won. Like I was weak or something, I guess.”

Squall glances over at him. “Because I’m a guy?”

“No, Squall,” Seifer says. “Because you’re _you_.” He watches Squall with his weapon for another few moments, expression uncharacteristically inscrutable. “And you know, part of the reason I wanted you was because we were rivals. What if I made a move and you suddenly liked me, then I didn’t have anyone worth a damn to train with.”

  
“Seifer, you did not think that at _sixteen_ ,” Squall protests, giving him a look. Though honestly, if anyone would….

Seifer shrugs. “Probably not, but that doesn’t mean it wasn’t true on some level. Also, what the fuck did you think I’d do? I had literally no experience, was I supposed to just tackle you? Make a move? Actually climb in the shower with you? I probably thought you’d be disgusted and tell on me.”  

Squall frowns. He rests the gunblade with the tip on the ground, leaning on it the way he’s seen Seifer do a thousand times. “I don’t think I would have.”

“You would have freaked out and you know it,” Seifer snorts. “Also, I mean, Squall. You’re _pretty_. I’m a guy who likes pretty people, and I figured that one out early on, so…I would have wanted to climb in the shower with you regardless.”

Squall is dying to ask, but he doesn’t. Seifer, though…now that they spend time together not trying to kill each other, it’s remarkable how easily they fall back into familiarity. Even if they don’t remember, they _have_ known each other since they were children. Muscle memory, again.

That means Seifer can tell Squall wants to ask. “I was fifteen and I had a crush on a cadet – you don’t remember him, probably, his name was Stavros. He was Galbadian and I realized pretty quickly I wanted to kiss him.”

“Did you?”

Seifer’s smile deepens. “Are you _jealous_?”

He’s not – is he? It feels kind of like it did when he first found about Rinoa and Seifer, and given he wasn’t in love with Rinoa at the time, wow, that should have been a lot more obvious than it was. “Just answer the question.”

“No, I didn’t. He failed the SeeD exam and I think he went home and joined the army.” Seifer’s eyes go distant and cold for a moment. “I think I saw him when I was…at Galbadia. During the war. But I didn’t remember who he was.”

That would have been Ultimecia, then, taking away Seifer’s memories along with so many other things. “Have you, um…you’ve been with guys before, though, right?”

Seifer is studying him carefully. “I was wondering if you were going to ask me about that.”

Squall shrugs, swinging the gunblade again. “You don’t have to tell me. It’s not my business.”

“But you want to know.”

He shrugs. He does, and he doesn’t. This possessive feeling is strange and oddly, it’s one he’s only ever felt about Seifer. He’s never been jealous of Rinoa, not since they admitted their feelings toward each other and especially not with the bond. It doesn’t even bother him when she flirts with other guys – or girls, for that matter.

Squall decides, in a rare moment of honesty, to share that. “Something about you makes me feel like I do about my gunblade. Like it’s mine and nobody else better touch it.”

Seifer throws his head back and laughs. Really laughs, the kind Squall must have seen before when they were kids, a simple laugh unencumbered by darkness and the anger and disappointment that edges so many of Seifer’s reactions. “That’s the most romantic thing you’ve ever said to me.”

Squall is about to snap something, but he realizes that Seifer isn’t lying. “Well, it’s probably not fair of me.”

“Don’t be so boring,” Seifer says, sounding almost _cheerful._ “You probably think I slutted it up given how _amazing_ I am in bed, huh.”

Squall thinks of the diplomatic way to answer that, then a nice way, and gives up on both in favor of simple honesty. “Not really, no.”

“Well, if we were keeping points, you just lost a lot of them.” Seifer shakes his head, but he doesn’t look all that mad. “Just one guy. A few months after my pardon, he was working at this bar I’d go to. We hooked up a few times. Wasn’t serious.”

Squall really hates how much he dislikes this story. “Where was it?”

“Deling. And you know, he didn’t know who I was? Which a lot of people pretended they didn’t, but…this guy didn’t seem to know _anything_ , like, about the war or whatever. He said he was a soldier but never told me where he was from. He had freaky blue eyes, too. I swear they glowed.”

Squall makes himself put Hyperion down, because now he wants to break something with the blade. “Oh. Galbadian?”

“Maybe. He said where he was from but I’d never heard of it. Told me it was a backwater town, and I don’t remember anything except it sounded funny. He was hot, though. Dark hair, and those weird eyes, and about as pale as you are.” Seifer studies him with a small smile. “This really is bothering you, isn’t it?”

“It shouldn’t.” Squall means that, because after the war he was happily playing house with Rinoa, celebrated as a hero and surrounded by his friends. Seifer had been pardoned but essentially exiled, wandering alone and why should Squall begrudge him someone to make the nights less lonely and give him some small amount of pleasure and happiness? “I’m glad you had someone.”

“It almost sounds like you mean that.” Seifer laughs. “Squall, the funniest thing about this is I can tell you’re more annoyed that you don’t like it than anything. You don’t have to worry, anyway, it’s not like I’ll ever run into him again. Zack said he was going home in a few weeks and that he wouldn’t be back, and I don’t even know his last name. He also said…it was weird. He said something the last time about how if a chance ever came up to make amends, I should take it. I forgot all about it until Quistis offered me the job here.”

Squall thinks about that as he puts the gunblade back on the table, checking it to make sure that it’s properly positioned and safe from falling. “And you weren’t with anyone else? Not even women?”

Seifer’s gaze shutters. “No. No women.”

There’s a story there, and it might have something to do with those wicked scars on Seifer’s stomach, the ones from where Ultimecia nearly eviscerated him. Did eviscerate him, for all intents and purposes. “It’s just been Rinoa. And you. For me.”

“Yeah. I figured. And I like that, so, if it makes you an asshole to be possessive then I guess I feel the same way.”

Squall nods, thinking about it as he rounds the table. “Does it bother you? About me and her.”

“You and her, what? Boning? Living together? Having a sorceress-knight bond?”

Squall waves a hand. “Any of those.”

“At first, maybe a little. Less about Rinoa, ‘cause we were kids practically when we dated. And yeah, maybe you get to be a knight to a sorceress who isn’t crazy and who likes dogs and shared calendars instead of time compression and torture. But I wouldn’t have been happy with that, you know me. I wanted the world’s attention, and I got it.” Seifer’s smile is chilly, but Squall knows it’s mostly directed inward. “And I never fucking want it again, so. No, it doesn’t bother me.”

Squall realizes that he believes him, and a little more of his distrust fades away. He nods and climbs into Seifer’s lap. “You can, uh. See Lionheart. If you want.”

Seifer smirks up at him, and then laughs. “Has Rinoa not taught you how to express your feelings in anything but weapon metaphors?”

He smacks Seifer lightly on the shoulder. “Yes, but I can with you because you know that means something.”

“I do, and I shouldn’t be surprised that you offer to let me swing your sword around instead of using words, but hey. It’s pretty badass, and yeah, I’d like to check it out sometime.”

Nodding, Squall shifts closer and leans in to kiss him.  “Can we fuck now?”

“Such a fucking romantic,” Seifer says, hissing a little as Squall slides his hand into his hair and pulls, hard, exposing the long line of Seifer’s throat. “Yeah. We can.”

“Good.” He leans in, kisses Seifer and grinds a little on his lap because it feels good, and then he says, “If you put that away I’ll fuck you on the table.”

“Tempting, but I got a bed. Come on, pretty boy.” Seifer stands up without warning, and Squall makes an undignified noise and wraps his arms and legs around him, clinging like a Moogle. Seifer laughs again, the sound rumbling through his chest as he makes his way to the bedroom.

Well, this is absurd. Seifer Almasy is literally carrying him to bed. Squall’s life has reached new and awe-inspiring levels of weird, and he can’t even say he’s all that sad about it.

***

Seifer likes Squall to fuck him with him on his back, because, as he told Squall the first time they did this, _I like watching you fucking fall apart for me._

And Squall does fall apart. He still can’t get over how it feels to be _inside_ of Seifer, all that heat burning around him like a brand, searing through his skin to the cold places he thought weren’t supposed to melt. He knows he’s still graceless with this, because by the time they get to it he feels so hurried and frantic, his hands too rough, his kisses sloppy and his every moment desperate.  

He basically crawls all over Seifer’s hard, strong body in near desperation while Seifer lays there and laughs at him. But then Squall gets inside and his sweat-slick hands find purchase and his knees get positioned _just right_ , and he still feels a little like some sort of half-crazed sex maniac as he fucks him but eventually he finds some finesse, though honestly, he doesn’t think Seifer minds the half-crazed thing at all.

This time, though, Squall has some new things to try.

Seifer is adamant that while he likes getting fucked he doesn’t want to be on his stomach, ever, and he’ll only do it on his hands and knees if they’re in front of a mirror. Not quite ready to see himself fucking _anyone_ , Squall is fine with Seifer on his back, especially since he’s been doing some research on how to make it even better for both of them.

Seifer’s eyes go wide when Squall grabs Seifer behind the knees and pulls his legs up, feeling a triumphant burn of pleasure just from the fact he’s surprised Seifer. Then, of course, he notices how the angle gets him deeper and he throws his head back and moans.

“Fuck, that feels good,” Seifer hisses. He’s never quiet about what he likes or doesn’t like, which Squall appreciates. “Harder, come _on_ , you know I can take it.”

That voice makes him shiver all over and he does it, still thrilling at how _rough_ he can be, not only because Seifer can take it but because _that’s how Seifer wants it_. Squall shifts so he can put Seifer’s legs on his shoulders, and he gives Seifer a triumphant sort of smirk at how he manages it even though his thighs are already starting to burn.

“Fuck, yeah,” Seifer gasps, pushing up on his elbows. He watches Squall during sex, like he’s drinking in the expressions on his face.

“I – tell me you like it,” Squall pants, looking down at Seifer’s cock, which is lying hard against his stomach, flushed and wet with pre-come.

“Tell me _you_ like it,” Seifer says, in return.

Squall shoots him a narrow-eyed glare and slams his hips forward so hard that the headboard knocks into the wall. He wonders if Seifer has neighbors. “Of course I fucking like it.”

“Jerk me off,” Seifer growls into his neck, that sex-rough voice driving Squall closer to the brink. He does, managing to find his balance with one palm even though his arm is shaking, and he reaches down to wrap a hand around Seifer’s cock and stroke him in time to his thrusts. He finds a good rhythm and he’s so close, so fucking close, and Seifer looks right at him and say something about _you going to come for me,_ and Squall just….draws his hand back and smacks him across the face.

For a moment he doesn’t know why he did it, other than it just sort of seemed like maybe he should. But Seifer blinks, then he moans and says, “Do it like you fucking mean it or don’t bother,” so Squall rears up and smacks him again, and eventually Seifer takes over stroking himself off so that Squall can fuck him with enough leverage and keep smacking him, harder and harder until his palm hurts and Seifer comes with a low shout, hips bucking so hard Squall nearly falls off him.

The feeling of Seifer’s muscles clenching tight around him does him in and he falls gracelessly on top of him, gasping for breath and choking out a litany of mostly _oh, Hyne,_ and things that aren’t words.

He’s a boneless heap when Seifer shoves at him, muttering that he’s too hot to be lying on top of him.

Without thinking much, Squall uses his ice magic to cool himself – which is maybe not the right thing to do, given how sweaty they both are and how Seifer junctions Ifrit.

Seifer makes the closest thing to a _shriek_ that Squall’s ever heard come out of his mouth and shoves him off, and Squall goes tumbling to the floor.

Seifer peers down at him, and Squall looks up at him, and then – they both laugh.

As good as the sex was, somehow that’s even better.

***

“How come you wanted me to slap you?” Squall asks, later, after the bed’s been fixed and they’ve both showered and headed for round two of pizza and beer.

“You slapped me first,” Seifer points out, and unless Squall’s crazy, it looks like Seifer is blushing, kind of.

“Yeah, well. You can’t say you’re surprised. I’ve wanted to do that for years and there’s no way you didn’t pick up on that.”

“Yeah, fine.” They’re on the couch, Squall sitting cross-legged and Seifer with his long legs spread out in front of him. “I don’t know. I don’t want to think about it right now, and if you want to get laid later, don’t bring it up.”

Squall smiles down at his pizza. “Okay. How come you always want me to fuck you? I figured you’d probably want to do it to me at some point.”

“Hyne, what is with you turning into a fucking chatterbox after sex? Actually, you’ve talked more than tonight than you have ever, and…is it because it’s fucking _date night_ because I am not –”

“I talk,” Squall interrupts. “I do. When it matters.”

That seems to pacify Seifer, and Squall wonders if he knows how easy it is to placate him by saying things that suggest he’s important – then he realizes why that’s probably true, and how Ultimecia must have used it to get what she wanted from him. Squall doesn’t want to do the same, so he says, “You don’t have to answer. Just say you don’t want to talk about it.” There.  

 “When do I not want to talk about myself? I’m not you.” Seifer throws a wadded-up paper towel at him. “And I do want to fuck you, I figure we’ll get there, but for now I want you to give it to me, you’re pretty good for a beginner – hey! No magic, asshole, that’s not fair,” Seifer grouses as Squall makes his beer float just out of reach in retaliation.

“It feels good and it means you do all the work,” Seifer says, once he’s retrieved his beverage. “And it’s – everything is all….” He waves a hand several times, the gesture mystifying in its intent.

“Breezy?” Squall guesses. “Magic? Wavy? What?”

“You annoy the _fuck_ out of me, Leonhart.”

“Mm.” No big revelation there. “If you don’t want to answer, just say so.”

“Oh, I’ll answer, but then you answer something for me.”

“Fine.” Squall waits, even though he never agreed to that and wouldn’t have, he’s not the one who likes to talk about himself. This sort of feels like a trap.

“Maybe, just _maybe,_ I like how it’s all about me when you’re fucking me.” Seifer shrugs. “Really, are you surprised by this? You shouldn’t be. I’m a selfish asshole. My goddamn name even kinda _sounds_ like ‘selfish asshole.’ No, really, it does. Try it. Seifer Almasy. Selfish Asshole. Seifer Almasy. Selfish Asshole. Seifer…”

Squall refuses to say it out loud, but he kind of mouths along with Seifer in his head. “It’d work better if you said your name _See-fur_ instead of _Cypher_.”

“My first job after I was pardoned, I worked on the docks in Balamb loading cargo. My boss called me _See-Fur Almsay_ every Hyne-damned day.”

That’s the most personal thing about his post-war life Seifer’s offered, and Squall knows better than to push so he simply takes that information and draws it in like magic to be stocked. Manual labor would explain Seifer’s tan and his muscular physique, for sure.

“One time Quistis told me that she saw Zell throw his phone down and break it because he kept trying to use the voice command to call me. But every time he said ‘Call Squall’, it would reply ‘okay! who did you want to call?’, so he’d say, ‘Squall’ and it would just repeat it, again, ‘Okay! Who did you want to call?’”  

Seifer laughs. “Ah, Chicken-Wuss. Overcome by technology, not a surprise. He probably had his hands full with a hot dog at the time.”

That was actually true, but Squall doesn’t think Zell will appreciate him letting Seifer know that.

“Okay, my turn –”

“Wait,” Squall says, wiping his fingers on the paper towel. “That’s your answer? You want me to fuck you because you’re selfish?”

“I – yeah, but, you look…I like seeing you melt, ice prince. I bet no one ever sees you like that – ‘cept Rinoa – and I like seeing you do it for me.”

That’s almost sweet, and Squall gives in to the sudden urge and leans over to kiss him.

It surprises Seifer, he can tell; it surprises Squall, too. Spontaneous affection isn’t easy for him – any kind of affection, really – but there’s something about the simple honesty of that answer that makes him want to give back something in response. “I like it. But you can fuck me if you want.”

“I do want.” Seifer stares at him for a moment, then says, “Do you remember when I tortured you?”

Squall goes still, because this is the absolute last thing he expects and he doesn’t want to talk about the war any more than Seifer does. “I remember.” His voice is flat, backlit a bit by Shiva’s ice.

“I need to tell you something. About that. I – I wanted to do it, Squall. I liked doing it.”

Squall understands that this is something they need to talk about but he doesn’t want to, doesn’t want to think about how he just kissed the man who strapped him up on an electric wall and told someone to switch on the power. Several times. While smiling.

Seifer’s face has always been easy to read, even when it’s honest. And that’s why Squall hates that memory, because there’d been no hint of a lie in Seifer’s enjoyment of Squall’s suffering.

“I know I was possessed and I’ve…thought about a lot of what I did and why, and there was a lot I don’t actually remember doing and she was very good at giving me what I thought I wanted or making me do things that I thought was my idea. I could tell you that was one of them, but it’d be a lie. I don’t really know what the fuck we’re doing but…I think you should know that. My mind was fucked up and I don’t feel that way now, but…I did, then. And it wasn’t her. It was me.”

Squall swallows past the remembered pain of it and takes a deep breath. “Okay.” It’s all he can say.

“I’m not proud that I liked it, and like I said to Rinoa, I don’t want to talk about this again but I’m sorry. You and I were never friends, but we must have been something, or I wouldn’t have felt that strongly about you at all.”

Squall nods, again, filing this information away to take out and examine later, when he’s alone and can think without the press of Seifer’s thigh against his, the warmth of his skin and his scent making Squall dizzy. “Do you still feel that way?”

“No. I don’t hate you, and I don’t want whatever this is to be because you hate me for what I did to you. I know I don’t really have the right to ask that, and you – Hyne knows if you want to take your pound of flesh by fucking me senseless, go ahead. But, uh. I don’t do casual very easy, Squall, no matter _what_ it is. That thing with Zack was a one-off, and I’m still not entirely sure I didn’t dream it because I was so fucking lonely. But whatever, the point is I – don’t act like this is something that matters if it isn’t. If it’s revenge, just be straight and tell me, okay? I – I know I probably don’t deserve that, but –”

Squall moves and ends up in his lap, because Seifer is remarkably easy to straddle, and he’s starting to see the appeal and why Rinoa does it all the time to him. “Hey.” He takes Seifer’s head in his hands. “This? Is because I’ve wanted to put my hands on you since I was sixteen years old. You make me feel things and they’re not all nice, but I don’t hate you. Okay? And I don’t really do casual either, considering I wanted to find your maybe-not-real Zack and put my gunblade through his heart for touching you.”  

Seifer looks away, clearly caught between ashamed and relieved. That he said that at all, asked Squall to be honest…well, Squall’s changed in two years and it seems Seifer has, too.  

“You don’t want me to hate you because you don’t hate me, either, right?” Squall runs a hand through Seifer’s blond hair, pushing back the few strands that always escape. They fall right back down again, covering his scar.

“No, Squall. I stopped hating you a long time ago.” Seifer’s eyes are an arresting shade of cyan that seem to change with his mood; from the chill green of cut sea glass to the dark stormy swirl of absinthe, to the color of the sea off the cost of Balamb Town. They’re somewhere between the last two shades at the moment. “I shared my mind with something _was_ hate, and believe me, I don’t feel that way toward anyone on the planet.”

 _There’s a good man somewhere in there,_ Rinoa said, weeks ago, about Seifer. _I think he just needs to know it’s safe to let him out._

Squall’s done with talking, so he kisses Seifer instead – trying to say something with his body that he can’t quite put into words, because he’s not entirely sure yet what it is yet, even if he finally knows what it’s not.

***

“Where – Squall, what are you doing?” Seifer lifts his head, giving him a sleepy sort of glare.

Squall pauses in the act of searching for his clothes and studies Seifer’s face. He’s very good at glaring. Much better than Squall. “Sometimes I don’t know if you’re glaring or if it’s just how your face looks because of your eyebrows.”

“Sometimes I wish you’d go back to not talking,” Seifer says, then sits up. “What are you doing? Are you planning on leaving?”

“I was just looking for my shirt, but I can go sleep in my office if you want.” Squall clears his throat. “I don’t, uh. If you want to sleep alone…what?”

“Hyne help me, you’re an idiot.” Seifer rolls over, fumbles around and the floor and throws something at him. His shirt. “Here. Put this on and get back in bed, no, I don’t want you to sleep in your office, what the fuck is wrong with you? First, Rinoa will come and lecture me and no thank you, did that got the Tonberry card. Second, I bought dead peppers for your stupid omelet and they’re not cheap. Oh, and third, we can fuck in the morning.”

Squall pulls the shirt on. “I wasn’t going to sneak off,” he says, because he really wasn’t. “I was just cold.” Seifer’s shirt smells like him, and Squall gives up pretending to himself that he doesn’t like it. That’s a step.

“Stop junctioning the ice goddess,” Seifer mutters, then throws an arm around Squall’s waist and hauls him back, spooning him against his larger, warm body.

“Are you _spooning_ me?” Squall asks, astounded. His eyes are very wide in the dark. ‘I didn’t think you were into that.”

“Well, shows what you know. Who doesn’t like cuddling? You? Too bad.” Seifer throws a leg over Squall’s to trap him.

 “Whatever.” Squall groans and pulls the covers over his head. “I’m not good at being a boyfriend for _one_ person, how can I do it for two?”

Seifer yawns and chucks him under the chin. “I’ll make it easy on you. Blowjobs in the shower, tell me my omelets are amazing, and never, ever call it date night.”

“Deal,” says Squall, and closes his eyes.

***

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Look I 100% believe Zack Fair has the ability to show up in literally any timeline he wants and wreck havoc, including convincing hot former-villains that they should give redemption a try. What?


End file.
